windfall | light a cigarette, i'll watch as it burns

light a cigarette, i'll watch as it burns

[ Knocking. The roar of ammunition fire in his ears. Blasts of heat and debris sticking to his face, dust crusting in his eyes. A delirious and delicious taste, sweet red like pomegranate, like Aki's skin scraping open in his mouth.

Denji doesn't talk much about what happened that day.

Not unusual, since he doesn't really talk much about any of what transpired prior to meeting Nayuta, either. Or about how sometimes he can still sense, not even hear, but sense a phone ringing in the distance, its pull like a spiral cord that's gone taut, that's trying to make its way back home and if he follows its trail, he might just find someone familiar on the other end of the receiver.

No, he doesn't tell anyone all that, because, see, the last time he did, Kishibe had just hummed and looked at him, the kind of look Denji would get from adults whenever they caught him picking through the dumpster for his next meal: pitying. Then, he'd shook out a flask from the inside of his coat and said, "Sometimes it's better for the line to go dead, kid."

Weird response, right? It'd made Denji go silent, think a bit. And after a while, he hadn't liked that so much, so he'd changed the subject to something inoffensive, like complaining about how much Nayuta's so much better at arcade games than he is, but Kishibe had cut him short at that point to go take a call.

Naturally, Denji had followed.

It's a little sad that a man in his silver years is the only person he can confide in, but Kishibe's not a bad guy — and that's coming from someone who generally hates men. Then again, the guy doesn't show his gaunt face around these parts unless he absolutely has to, which is probably by his own design, so it helps that he's never around long enough for Denji to get sick of seeing him. Up until that conversation, his absence wouldn't have been something Denji paid notice to. It'd usually take weeks and months and Nayuta asking where the funny, drunk geezer who always sneaks her hard candy is for him to see past the everyday chaos of being Tokyo's friendly neighborhood Chainsaw Man.

But as Denji creeped closer, overhearing some words but not registering most of them, a dangerous curiosity brought him to the edge of his hiding spot. What the hell has this dude been up to?

And then he'd froze.

"So the Gun Devil's position has been compromised. Initiate a tactical retreat."

Afterward, he hadn't done anything for a solid week besides go to school, kick some devil ass and stare vacantly at a pair of eggs frying in the pan for dinner each evening. Predictably, Nayuta had rapidly gotten sick of the menu. So before he could make his eighth pair of fried eggs, she'd scaled up his back and twisted his earlobes until he begged for forgiveness.

"Stuuupid! Dummy! Get a hold of yourself!" Nayuta raged on. "No more acting weird, or else I'm putting doggy kibble in your cereal again!"

She was right. He needed to get a hold of himself. Yeah, he was dumb, but that didn't mean he had eggshells for brains. He could still do stuff in his own way.

In the following weeks, Denji spent his time hounding members of the Devil Hunter Club for all and any relevant knowledge pertaining to devils. From rumors about recent devil sightings, to insights into things like the theoretical mechanics behind how long it took for certain types of devils to die in Hell and be reborn, to mathematical equations projecting the survivability rate of fiends based on the velocity and quantity of violence…

Of course, he only understood about three-percent of anything at any given time, but one detail of interest shared by some gloomy, pig-tailed girl stood out to him. According to her, a mysterious amount of devils had been slain in the Kabukicho district, none of which had been reported by either civilian hunters or Public Safety ones.

Anyone with half their wits would be able to easily determine that this wasn't a reasonable lead, but for Denji? He could feel something trilling out to him. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Aki watches Denji, nearly frozen from the combination of the scene around them and the words he's saying. For the past year, he's worked mostly away from the chaos of a direct fight. Gun is cheap in that way - most of his work can be done at a distance, closing in slowly, going only so far as he needs to. Killing devils that spawn in the countryside and grow slowly until they're strong enough to attack a city and do actual damage. The times he has been in populated areas, they've been cleared out for his presence. Most of his fights in the past year, Aki has been alone.]

[Now, with a devil hunter cringing away from her bleeding leg and Denji's chainsaws ripping through the air, he's right back in the thick of things. The first time he ever got into an altercation with multiple devils at once, years ago. The first time he was ever truly overpowered, could see his own life flash before his eyes. Back then he had cheap hits like Curse that had expensive aftermarket taxes. Now, the only thing he's paying for when he's using a devil is a little more esoteric. His future, but in a different kind of way.]

[The devil hunter makes eye contact with him. She looks petrified. He recognizes the expression. He can almost feel the devils around them growing more rabid with that metaphoric blood dripping into the water. He can't use Gun like this.]

Get her out of here, then - [He grabs Denji and pushes him toward the hunter.] You're a hero, right? Then save a girl, you dumbass!

[The hunter looks less than thrilled with a teenager covered in chainsaws being shoved her way, but Aki doesn't care. He pulls off the jacket he stole and reaches up to take his hair down. He doesn't want to break another elastic.]

[He can clear this, he thinks. Thirty seconds and it'll be over. But he needs to lessen the number of eyes below the rubble.]

What?

[ He doesn't so much as glance at the girl, her life more of an afterthought set side-by-side to the person in front of him, which is a horrid thing to think being someone's only hope of making it out in one piece. But he doesn't care. Can't when his stare bores into the back of Aki's head and all he can imagine seeing is the butt of a gun jutting its way out, like some swamp monster surfacing from the marsh. It's funny. He'd sounded so high and mighty saying all that crap about forgetting their promise, the silly bounce of their fingers linking in the train car; he's not sure if he really meant it but it'd felt good in the moment to say. Except now he feels as small as an anthill.

He recalls when he first heard of Aki's contract to Curse, back when they were fighting the Eternity Devil. How Aki had mentioned using his sword and how, with the same speed a someone might spark a lighter, Himeno had appeared at his side, gating him, told him to put that thought away. He hadn't understood it then, why you'd stop someone from relinquishing something they're so willing to give up, but he thinks he gets it a little now. ]

That's… That's right, I am a hero. And you're —

[ Not moving from his place, his saw chains whip around the base of a nearby utility pole, teetering on the precipice of falling down into the crater. Teeth gritting, his biceps strain and screech as he wrests it down, cables uprooting until it crash-lands at a slope, nearly hitting the injured hunter. ]

You're the dumbass if you think I'm gonna leave you alone out here to look cool all on your own!

[ Immediately, dust clouds up but once it clears, a precarious escape way is there for the woman. She looks at him like he's insane, especially because there are still mites of electricity splashing out from the twisted cables. However, when Denji makes a shooing motion with his arm, she decides to take her chances periling up the pole with her injured leg rather than rely on the psycho chainsaw head.

Denji knows Aki can't die, that he may not even get overly hurt the same way he does on the regular, but the thought of stranding him in a thrall of devils? Unthinkable. He can't stomach it. ]

[The pseudo-ladder comes down and Aki's eyes widen in shock. It lets the hunter get out, sure, but it creates an easy escape path for devils as well. Seeing a human already start climbing her way up and out, a few are already crawling toward the post to follow along. Aki looks to Denji like he's about to yell at him for this when he sees something bigger moving beyond him, something cracking up the concrete as it moves along. The flowers or plants or whatever they are that are stuck to its body keep wilting before regrowing each time a devil gets too close, their bodies sucked dry and the buds popping full again only to release more spores and wilt again. It's like a stupid, endless cycle. Constantly dying, constantly regrowing. Like weeds. What are like weeds?]

[He can't focus on identifying the devil right now. Seeing the devils split in multiple paths, some following the main source and others crawling towards either Aki and Denji or the pole with the hunter just now reaching the top of and running away from, he makes a split decision and rolls up his sleeve.]

Go for the big one. Find the heart - Don't breathe the plants directly. Tear straight through. [His left arm starts to fold inward on itself, like the two bones are snapping into a single one, but it reforms itself like clay and starts to create the shape of a long assault rifle, black and webbed where it attaches to his shoulder. He aims toward the devils starting to climb the pole and the whole thing nearly shatters with the force of the blast. Aki, himself, doesn't even flinch from the knock-back.]

Go! [He'll take care of all the small fry.]

[ Aki doesn't flinch, but Denji does, his arm thrusting up in reflex, like the chainsaw might deflect either the peal of gunfire or the order hurtled his way, he couldn't tell you which — though even if he could, he probably wouldn't willingly volunteer an answer.

Forcing himself to shake off the panic that'd momentarily flared through him, Denji shoots him one last look, unreadable from the metal face he wears, then breaks away. Booking it for where, he can only assume, the roots or the stalks of the more fearsome devil perforate underground. He'd spotted it around the same time Aki had: the slabs of cement rising and flattening back into place, like a breath being taken, flashes of a greenish vein humping up, exposed in the crevasses of the ruined road. If the flowers are more like the thing's fingertips, its way of sending out feelers and hunting dense flocks of devils to feed on, what's beneath them probably isn't anything like a heart, but maybe it could be a path through to it?

Moving like a needle, he sews in and out of range of the lesser devils, secure in his trust that Aki will mow them down before they can give thought to targeting him. Running up an overturned mini truck and using it as a launching pad, Denji blurs through the air, bladed arms tucked in a cross at his chest to lessen his inertia and spin out into the moving ground. His chainsaws sink past the cover of stone, past the fuzzy hairs of the tendril and into a solid mass, something that might be closer to flesh. But it's not a clean penetration. The stone having acted as a kind of armor, his attack only gouges about halfway deep — and the devil's reaction is instantaneous. All the buds rescinding from their other locations in the pit, retreating back to this singular limb, the concrete floor abrades, pieces of it quaking and grinding, until a giant hand erupts out, exploding devils and debris in all directions. Or it looks like a hand, something like vines twined together in a clump to imitate a human arm. Water bursts from the collapsed plumbing. Streams of sediment cascade from the space between its fingers.

During all this, Denji had shot chainsaws out of his heels to cling tight but he hardly needed to as he sits neatly in the palm of the risen hand. So big, the pit is eclipsed by its shadow. ]

Uh-oh.

[ He's about to try shanking his way out just as the fist curls, to keep him squished in place, not so tight as to crush his skeleton but enough to make sure he can't move freely as buds sprout from all five of its digits. Each of their petals opening to spray his face with the spores. ]

[Aki can leave Denji to this part. The charge onto the devil - he's handled that enough times. Seen him jump down their throats and into their line of sight enough that it had been annoying sometimes. But this time he puts his trust into him that he can handle exposing the main body, whatever is below ground that all the devils are so excited over. It makes for easy target practice. 30 rounds in his arm, and it takes up to three to kill a single devil. They splatter like eggs on the ripped up pavement and dirt, broken sewage lines leaking dirty water to mix with the already putrid smell. What the hell is that smell? He can't figure it out. When he feels his arm empty of shells, the pit has grown quiet but no more still than it was, the ground still buckling, just with the added assortment of dark blood an entrails from the slain. He reaches down to feed his fingers into the magazine of the rifle, but before he can reload it the hand starts to come up and Aki watches it ascend above them, shading the mass of bodies below.]

[The fist curls in and for a moment Aki can't see him at all and he shouts with his voice crackling in rage and terror - ] Denji!

[The flood of spores sprouting from the ground combined with the shock of the outstretched hand sends his mind into a frenzy. He can't focus, can't devise a plan that isn't to turn this whole place into one giant bullet hole. His vision goes grey as he feels metal curl over his face, down over his eyes and stretching a cold, metallic chill down his spine. Facing the hand reaching out of the ground, Aki fires and the area acting as a wrist snaps in two like hay against flame. The vines stretch from the ground like nerves with no skin and splay outward in search of the lost hand which crashes to the ground. Aki runs forward, yanking apart the flowers until he can pull Denji out. It smells awful. It's so overwhelming. His knees feel weak. He wants to lay down. He could just give up. It doesn't matter. Denji was already dead in his mind, before this. He went through a year mourning him. And Power is still gone. Angel is still gone. If it's just Denji, does it even matter? If he saves him, isn't he delaying the inevitable? Another devil will kill him, surely. None of this even matters. He could never defeat Gun and he can never rid the world of devils. There will always be more, and Gun's very existence prevents his goal. He can't enjoy his victory, ever. How can he live happily knowing he's prolonging his own suffering? It's all so...]

[Aki gasps out of his brief stupor like surfacing in the ocean, waves still crashing his face as he grabs Denji and yanks him free. He stumbles back and rolls onto his side, coughing hard from the onslaught of spores covering his body. None of it matters, so why can't he just do what he wants? Does everything he does have to have a purpose? Can't he just - Fuck. He coughs again, pulling himself onto his knees as he reaches out to grab for Denji.]

Denji - Denji, get up - Come on. [He's talking to him as much as to himself. His face still half concealed with the barrel of a pistol, he stares at Denji through the fog of metal and begs for just one more day with him. At least one more night with him clung to his body like a selfish child.]

[ Deceptively gentle is the way the fist envelops Denji, closing around him not to cause hurt or mete out a punishment, but to seal out the rest of the world. A protective shell from the eventuality — and subsequent agony — of everything rejecting him. The spores pervade into what space there is inside his enclosure and he hungrily gulps it all down, savoring the taste, pleasant and saccharine and safe, like how it must feel swimming in the primordial ooze of a cocoon. An egg. A mother’s womb. Or like when some people will cup a fragile insect between their hands, careful not to apply too much pressure, as they release them outside. The kind of care and delicacy he never deserved, never had enough pocket change to afford in bulk without any terms and conditions attached.

His back hits the wall of the devil's palm, the cold alloy of his chainsaw arms liquefying into goop at his sides, leaving only his head covered. He slides down.

I don't wanna go back out there, Denji thinks with startling clarity. Tokyo is too big, too full; how could there be any room for someone like him to stow away through the cracks? Steal a crumb of a life not his to enjoy? Maybe if he could always be Chainsaw Man that'd be the case. He could be normal about going to school. See a future for himself that didn't end in his blood watering earth's soil, hell's waving grasses, his disfigured body remaking, recycling over and over again. He could hold someone's hand. Kiss someone he's always wanted to without worrying if they like him, really, actually like him, or if they'll wise up and realize he's too damaged in the head, in his borrowed heart, to play at being a good human, that he's better off playing a dead one —

His body rattles inside the fist as it smashes to the pavement, head banging up against the the wriggling vines. He doesn't understand what's happening. Hasn't yet realized the vines are in pain. The only thing he's able to register in his hollowed state is the ringing in his eyes, even as light suddenly punches through his prison. Denji doesn't move. He can't. It turns out he doesn't need to, though, because Aki is calling his name, Aki is pulling him close. At least he thinks so. The face staring down at him is different, frayed by a horrid metal, as dark as a void. But his arms are familiar. His arms are familiar…

However, what relief swells in his chest is laced with a series of thoughts so venomous, it sours the feeling entirely within seconds: Who cares if Aki is calling his name when he’s just filling a hole? A short-term substitute for every person who meant more to him? Who connected with him better, understood him more. Just like every other damn thing in this life, this doesn't matter. ]

Don't!

[ He jerks away from Aki. Stumbling to the ground beside him, his hands scraping hard against the jagged surface. When he stares at his palms, they're bleeding. ]

Don't… Something's — wrong. I-I have to…

[ It's harder to do this with his arms returned to normal. No matter how much he tugs at his starter cable, only the barest hint of a razor forms at his knuckles. Breathing labored, Denji unsteadily scavenges the dirt for something sharp, something usable. His fingers close around a hefty piece of scrap metal, its edges pointed. This should do. Wordlessly, he swings the the metal into the side of his own skull, several times if Aki doesn't stop him, bludgeoning the hardened guard until blood dribbles and leaks from the self-inflicted wound. ]

[Gun's thoughts are starting to knock on his door. He can feel him scratching at the wood, trying to come through. Why not just blow it all up? Why not? Denji throws him away, his chainsaws retracted, and Aki uses the brief separation to catch his breath. Why does the divide feel so weak right now? Why can't he think straight? He keeps dipping lower, dropping like he's sinking, the suffocating feeling of - ]

Hey!

[Seeing Denji suddenly stab himself snaps him out of it and Aki runs at him, grabbing his wrist with his non-rifle arm.]

Don't - What are you doing, you idiot?! Stop it - This...

[The door between him and Gun goes steely again. His head is clearing. Chest still heaving heavy, he tightens his grip on Denji's wrist.]

It's - neurotoxin, it's something attacking your mind. [What is it? If he thinks too deeply about what kind of devil it is the thoughts circles back on themselves and he's right back where he started. What the hell is this?] Don't let yourself think - We just have to... The heart, that's the target. It's the heart. Just think about the heart.

[Said as much for Denji's sake as his own. He swallows and faces the vines swimming out of the ground and searching for the hand, trying to reclaim its body. The brief pause while it searches for itself has meant the spores aren't covering them anymore but Aki knows they're still in the air, just not as overwhelming. It has to be a clean strike, no room for error. He can't leave it to Denji.]

Let me take care of it.

[ Aki snatches his wrist before he can land one more anchoring blow to his head, and the touch is blistering, like the sensation of white heat sweeping through his nervous system, as if he'd laid a fragment of the sun against his skin instead of his hand. If he stopped thinking so hard, he could want it, lean in and draw out the contact, but that's — stupid. A thick growl seizes in his throat from frustration. Denji drops the scrap metal, letting it clang to the floor among the other pieces of rubble, as he desperately tries to twist out of his reach again. Recoup what mental footing he can now that he can't trust his own mind.

Neuro… Whatever Aki called it. Is that what's making sweat trail down his back? His head feel so warm and pressurized? ]

Aki…

[ Denji wants to tell him not to dive back into combat like this, that he's got a bad feeling about and they should go find blood for him to drink. They need to regroup or something, far away from this place. Another voice from the deepest reaches of his mind wants him to say, instead, Of course, you're just gonna go where I can't chase after you. But then Aki tells him to think about the heart. He means the heart of the devil they're after, and yet all he can do is think of his own.

Finally, what comes out of his mouth is this: ] Don't leave me.

[Aki doesn't want to let go but he does. Denji reacts so rough to his touch and the contact itself feels... He doesn't know. It doesn't feel like last night. Like that hug. It feels like he's touching metal against metal. He can't feel the pulse of blood through his veins, his smooth layer of skin, the way his muscles move below it. Why does it all suddenly feel so out of reach?]

[Staring at Denji with blood running down his head, his arms covered in it, he wants to wrap him in his arms and tell him to stop. Stop bleeding, stop fighting, just stop. He knows Denji would writhe and fight him if he did. Would struggle and curse him in his arms. Why is it so impossible to get through to him? Why does he never listen? Why is he so selfish?]

[And then he tells him not to leave him. Aki thinks - Of course I'm going to leave you. The thought stings like a spike to the heart. He knows it's true. Knows he's going to have to leave Denji eventually. The word of Gun spottings will die down, dismissed as conspiracy and the babblings of nutjobs. He'll go back to the government and they'll resume their tight control on him. He'll do exactly what they say and destroy whatever they point to without a word to the contrary. Denji will be a memory again. He can't stay with him forever. He knows this. It's selfish to think otherwise.]

You know I will, one day.

[It's a cruel statement, but not unlike plenty of the others he's given him in their past. You don't have human rights, he told him once. Well, look at Aki now. None to speak of yet bold enough to act like that's what he deserves.]

[Without another word, he rushes forward and blasts a hole through the mass of vines that have finally found its hand, the lengths trying to wrap around one another to reform. The hole that explodes through the center opens a wide gap in its body as it makes a noise not too different from a groan of annoyance. Standing on the precipice of the pit above where the vines curl from the ground, he thinks he sees it through the exit wound - a curled up creature, not human and not animal. The vines hurry to wrap back around it and conceal it again, each one withering as it touches the creature before more rush to cover it again. An endless, pointless dance of death and retries. Maybe it looks a little like Denji, Aki thinks, raising his rifle arm to aim at the being. Vines are rushing up to grab at his ankles and body, trying to dislodge him from his spot, but Gun is faster, fires straight through. The heart bursts, vines crackling, and then his little precipice of an island starts to collapse as the devil folds in on itself, bringing Aki down with it.]

[ Aki strikes him with the finality of those words, straightforward and uncomplicated, similar to if he'd cleanly slipped a knife-edge between his ribs, and then left him to bleed out. He regrets ever saying anything to him at all. He doesn't watch him go.

Denji's shoulders sag low, head bowed, his breaths evening out — just another body surrendering to gravity, letting the weight and tension fall away from his back for once, after spending his whole life in constant motion. When was the last time he sat on this side of a battle? If he wasn't fighting, he was usually dead and waiting for someone to kick-start his motorized heart, waiting for the next command to tell him where to go. That was the good thing about being part of Public Safety, he didn't have to be liable for his own wants and actions the way he has to as a free man. The punishments aren't personal. The rejection isn't personal. People get hurt, or people die, or people quit to join the private sector and none of it is personal.

He's so sick of thinking.

A wet sensation hits the back of his neck, sliding down into his collar — rain, he belatedly understands, metaled helm tipping up. His open palm raises to meet a few of the droplets from the steady drizzle halfway, the water stinging his scratched palms. That's the only reason he looks back up in time to watch Aki's artillery fire discharge into the core of the devil, its feeble heart. Watching him troubles his stomach, maybe because like this, he really is a marvel, moving with such ease and laser precision in a body he's only had for a year; if he fought him back then as he is now, Denji's not so sure he would have won.

No longer able to sustain itself, the scenery and the vines change so rapidly, the green rotting to a blanched, sickly shade, he almost feels sorry for it. Putting up a fight for these past few days, plying energy from other devils and conserving its own strength for one big hurrah. Only to die like gutter trash. Honestly, it's all just…

The last of the vines shearing, Denji rockily gets to his feet, propelled by a twinge of fear, that Aki might be disappear inside the confetti of the devil's remains if he doesn't retrieve him… But he stops. No, Aki will be just fine. The less threatening devils have either died off or slunk back into hiding. He doesn't need him.

When Aki next finds Denji, he'll have dragged himself with much difficulty to a higher vantage point well above the hubbub of Public Safety securing the perimeter, the remainder of cable and steel shed off his form sometime prior. The rain's battering down harder now, but that doesn't stop him from rifling through the faces of people filtering in and out, trying to find Nayuta among them. He doesn't face him. ]

Yippee. You did it.

[When Aki returns to him, his body is a mix of brown and grey. The metal is gone, the guns dropped into goop onto the ground somewhere. Fading into his sullied clothing bathed in mud, blood, and devil guts. His breath is shallow as he finally comes across him, reaching out to grab him, his hand on his collar as if to keep him close by. His eyes are wide. Still pinned - whether from the exertion or the devil's spores or something else. He doesn't know and doesn't care. Heart pumping like a locomotive hitting top speed, he holds up his other hand, a single grey mass sitting in the palm.]

Gun.

[He almost sounds enthralled. Like it's not entirely his voice saying the word. A definition more than a statement of celebration or fear or anything else. He squeezes it in his hand and drops it, pushing it into his pocket. Inside his racing heart below his wheezing chest, Gun is ecstatic. So is he, and he doesn't know why.]

[Why it feels so good to have another piece.]

Come on.

[He tugs him by the collar, aiming to get him off their high point and take him back home, drenched like wet dogs and covered in god knows what. Mission successful. Time to head back to base. Time to rest and wait for the next day that will be exactly the same. The head-rush of endless victory and loss melded into one.]

[ A glance his way. ]

…Gun?

[ That would explain why the devil was such a pain in the ass. There's a hushed quality to his voice, genuinely astonished to see the warped chunk of gun flesh in plain view for the first time in over a year. Astonishment, though, swiftly chars into unsettled as his brow crinkles. Hunting down Gun's pieces is just a continuation of that confusing war stuff Makima explained to them what feels like an endless amount of time ago. It's hard to share in Aki's excitement. Some distance away from Aki has helped clear his head, but he's still majorly suffering from the haze wrought upon by the encounter with that devil and its perfume; plus, the knowledge that this is just one other thing that'll take him farther out of his reach doesn't help.

His gaze starts to return to the commotion below when his collar chokes painfully into his throat, Aki's yank digging out a sputter of coughs from his chest. Annoyed, he digs his heels in, whipping around to look at him. ]

Stop it — what's with you? [ He huffs, careful to avoid laying a hand on Aki, as he wraps a hand into his damp shirt, stretching out his collar to relax the chafing against his neck. His jacket got lost somewhere in the battle, which his teachers won't be happy about, but whatever. ] Nayuta probably stuck around the whole fight to watch, so I gotta find her. Make sure she's safe. [ Denji's not so dumb to think he's in any place to demand Aki go on ahead without him, so weakly, he adds: ] We can grab something to eat on the way home if you wanna celebrate, but it has to be the three of us.

[ Not like it's the first time they've walked around in tattered clothes, utterly caked in devil guts. ]

[Denji shakes him off and it gives Aki a moment to catch his breath, come down from the high he's in. It's only a step down a whole flight, however - his mind still feels submerged in clouds, a constant rush running through his blood and making it hard to calm his breathing or relax his muscles. And Denji - Why is he so upset? Is it because he used Gun? Because he didn't let him be the one who finished it off? What would it matter? The devil was going to die, whether it be by their hands, Public Safety's, or a private hunter. All Aki did was make it quick. He blinks as a raindrop hits his eye and reaches up to rub his palm against it, smearing devil gunk on his cheek.]

You're worried about her?

[Even his voice sounds a little detached and high. As if he could simply head back on his own and keep walking until he ends up somewhere new. The feds will pick him back up eventually. Not like they'll kill him. So what's the point? No matter what they do next, Aki's situation is set in stone. And that's created a strange feeling inside of him, the recognition of his range. Like a dog who has been tethered to a stake, he knows just how far he can run and, thanks to that, can enjoy the little circle of land he's trapped within for the time being. It's all going to be over eventually - why not make the most of it?]

[He feels impossibly warm. His cheeks are hot. Digging around in the guts of that devil for that long... Maybe it has a lasting effect. Aki steps forward to wrap his hand around Denji's wrist, staring at him directly with pinned pupils.]

Let's get char-siu. [He's craving meat. Maybe he's been subconsciously thinking about it since Denji told him what he did to Makima.]

[ Someone has to worry about her, Denji would say — if he didn't suddenly doubt himself, the words dying on his lips. Someone has to, sure. Does it have to be him?

She wasn't a responsibility he ever wanted, just a convenient pair of eyes for Kishibe to stick on her. He's not getting anything tangible out of caring for Nayuta besides her adoration, maybe, but just how much does that really mean to him? He's adored plenty of people who once stood in her very place. Makima, Pochita. A younger, brighter version of his pops, at one time, before the alcohol and the debt swarmed the last stalks of his good senses, devoured his future like locusts emaciating a field of crops.

Look, something whispers to him, despair given a voice. Look where that got them. Where that got him. Nayuta could lose him, too, one day, and… What? What after that? Would she cry like she did in the bathroom this morning? Would she be fine by her next meal?

When Aki moves and grabs him a second time, Denji blinks slow at first, then rapid, as his attention skids down to look at where they're skin-to-skin now, one scorching point of convergence. His pulse springing to meet Aki's palm, so rowdily it might just hop the fence to get there, an overexcited puppy who hasn't yet learned how to sit still. There it is again, that syrupy feeling twisting his insides, the faint aroma of spiced earth drifting to his nose, though the rainfall should have scattered every trace of that devil's musk. ]

Ah… Yeah. Char siu.

[ His chin drops a nearly unnoticeable degree, something like a nod, despite not knowing of any nearby places that offer pork cuts in that style. They'll make it work.

Inexplicably, his free hand rises to the smear staining Aki's cheek, scrubbing at the spot. Unable to look away from him, as if there were a swinging pendulum in his eyes and not just a peculiar glint. When he next speaks, he isn't worried about Nayuta a single bit. ]

If that's all you want. We could — stop by anywhere. Order anything to eat. Watch a ton of movies.

[Denji's hand rubs the mess off Aki's cheek and Aki blinks, recognition coming to him in a way that makes him see something that he should have seen before. If it was a snake, it would have bitten him, it's so close to his eyes. Denji is feeling this, too, he sees. This high.]

Devils with airborne detritus can leave effects on a human for up to six hours even post-death. [He recites that like he's reading out of a textbook. His sullied hand reaches up to Denji's face, rubbing over his cheek and imagining it slipping below his skin, sinking into his blood vessels and tendons and bone and becoming one with him. Instead of being alone save for his work, being together with Denji. Like he is with Gun. He presses his thumb against his jawbone as he stares at him, pupils so pinned it's hard to see. Like he still has that pistol over his eyes.]

I don't care where we go. As long as it's with you.

[He told him not twenty minutes ago that Denji knows he's going to be gone eventually. This is his response to that silence he gave him in return. Like coaxing a child after a dose of bitter medicine. It's okay. It's all temporary, anyway.]

[ One of Denji's eyes closes while he muddies his face with an unidentifiable grease. The dirt doesn't matter to him, not really. Aki's trailing fingers could be talons grating through his flesh for all he cares, the sizzling mouth of a gun, and Denji would still press in. Let his hands roam cavernous membrane and tissue, warmth and pain alighting his nerves in concurrent streams, if it meant that he'd be there with him. Inside him.

Would it be enough, though?

It feels just as cruel to hear him say exactly what Denji wants to hear as it’d been to hear him speak the plain truth of their situation. The inside of his throat like sandpaper grating together, an aching lump forming straight down the middle as he listens to him — he could cry, just like this, and maybe this time with both their faces slick from the downpour, Aki won't notice, won't try to make him feel better. He thinks he'd prefer that. Because how lousy would that be? To be witnessed crying two nights in a row over the same jackass?

So before Aki can say something else that'll make him want to throw himself off this building, the hand Denji has at his cheek tangles through his damp hair, roughly, his face forced low and tilted to smash their wet mouths together. He kisses him hard and angry, but starved for his skin for however long he'll have it within reach, any inch of him to close his lips around.

Six hours for humans, Aki said. So what is that for in-between beings like them? ]

[Denji charges against his mouth and Aki curls the hand that was against his jaw to hold him around his neck instead. He meets his kiss eagerly, moreso than before, even when it was a convenient way to keep from looking at him directly, an easy way to calm him down. Right now, it's less of a kiss for Denji and more for himself. He wants that warmth again, that strange connection he had to him in that moment. Pressing his palm to the back of his head, he forces Denji to tilt up and into him, his other arm wrapping around his waist.]

Did you really miss me?

[He says it against his lips, almost eager to hear the admission. How many times has he actually heard Denji say something painful? He always clams up when there's a difficult conversation to have. Right now, he wants to hear it. Wants to dig deeper into him and feel his attachment to him. Otherwise, how could he truly believe it?]

[ Denji slants into him, his palm coasting down the smooth runway of Aki's nape, the ends of his inky hair scrunching up as he massages into the spot. Melting into the closeness, like their combined body heat is thawing the glacier distance that's made up this past year. Dizzy with desperation to believe this could be enough to last beyond however far away Aki could be someday. Even though his question reminds him that there might be a time where it won't be just the hours at school separating them. ]

I — [ The way his breath catches in the back of his throat is telling — asking Denji this is hardly any different from prying a fresh scab open. ]

I missed you. Really missed you. [ Misses him right now, right this moment, right as he tries to chase away the bitterness seeping through by pressing in all the more viciously, his lips, sticky with spit, moving against the corner of Aki's mouth as he murmurs, ] Woulda killed myself just to see you again —

[Aki slowly curls his fingers around the strands of hair at the base of Denji's nape. His grip tightens as he tugs him away at the same time, the hand around his waist keeping him from moving away despite that. The separation between their lips is only a couple inches but Aki wants to hear him say it, even as he tries to keep kissing at him through each word.]

[He wants to say, No, you wouldn't have. Call him out on lying. Denji wouldn't kill himself for him. He doesn't want to believe that, or even entertain the thought, as tempting as it is. Something tells him it just can't be true.]

You were doing fine without me.

[There's a roll of thunder from a distance as the rain continues pelting them. He doesn't look upset as he says that - if Denji had done something that stupid for his sake, what would that say about himself? That he was so worth two people dying for him over? No, that can't be right. Can Denji really feel that way about him.]

You have that devil. Your own goals. Your own happiness.

[He has to impress this on him, he thinks - that Aki isn't worth such things. That his life isn't meaningful enough for that. He knew he was going to die already - why delay the inevitability? The...]

[He blinks slowly. That's it.]

It's all futile.

[Then he tugs Denji right back in for another kiss. It's futile - which is why he keeps going forward. Constant motion feels better than being stuck in place.]

Wha —

[ What does he know? What the hell does Aki know? The words nearly snarl straight through and out of his whole chest, would, if Aki's lips weren't already screwing his mouth shut, silencing every noise that struggles to be heard, wanting or frustrated. He didn't see what happened after: Power dragging both their bodies into a dumpster, into that rotted hole, where them and all his shredded dreams made the perfect bed to just die in. Quietly and without fight. Doesn't know how close he came to staying in there, how he was forced to go on without either of them, biting at loose threads of what might make him happy. Sex, infamy, movies with both sad and happy endings — hoping any one of those would finally, finally, take, but no, it had to be the sound of a bleating telephone line. The promise that Aki might still be out there.

His hand slaps at Aki's chest, as if to tell him it's all too much. He breaks from him, surfacing for air, Denji's breaths all but vapor steaming his face. A flash of his tongue darts between his lips to swipe up the remnant taste of rainwater and sweat on his mouth. ]

You're… such a prick.

[ Why ask him a question when he's just gonna correct him? Tell him how feels is wrong, just like everyone else. What was the point of asking? Of trying to get through to him? ]

Would you rather hear that I hated you? [ His knees start shoving into him, crowding Aki toward the edge of the rooftop, angry, like he might push him off the edge, make him sink body-first into the pavement. ] That I wish you'd stayed dead?

[Would he? No, Aki thinks. He probably would hate to hear that Denji hated him. That his death was a relief, a thorn removed from his toe. A rock finally pulled from his shoe. But he can also see that Denji hasn't been struggling to live without him. That should be relieving. Is relieving, if he were asked and refused to examine it. Yet... why does it hurt? Even if he makes a disaster of a breakfast every now and then or has to jump to get over a broken step on the rickety apartment stairs, Denji is doing fine. Going to school, killing devils after class. He's doing well. So why can't Aki be fully pleased with it? Why does the feeling of being unnecessary tug at his heart like a finger on a frayed thread, threatening to create a hole in the fabric? It's childish to behave this way - to both want and not want something like this.]

[Aki doesn't look behind himself as Denji brings them to the edge. He can see the lights from police cars still shining around them, reflected in the fog of the sky. He keeps his grip on the back of his head, staring at Denji without trying to get away from the precipice.]

I spent all that time thinking you were.

[Both him and Power, and Angel and everyone else. His neighbors, his coworkers - dead.]

I tried to get away from all of this. I tried to - ...

[His eyes finally soften a little. To throw Denji's words right back into his face would be cruel right now. Aki reaches up with his other hand to find his in turn, wrapping his fingers around his wrist.]

I want you to be independent. But I don't want to leave you again.

[He wants Denji to be free. But he wants him to need him. He wants Denji to care for himself and know how to care for others. But he wants him to care for him most of all. The ache of never being fully wanted or unwanted - to not know if Denji wants him there or not, needs him there or not... It hurts more than knowing he has a time limit. It hurts to be unable to understand where his place is with him. It hurts to no longer have a place to call home. But Gun taught him from a young age - there's no such thing as a permanent home.]

[ Automatically, useless appeals shoot up his throat: I can be independent! and If you want to stay, then stay! both race for the finish line. But, darting a look down at Aki's hand on his wrist, he stomps on the brakes. Swerves.

The same way his words wouldn't able to best the thunder crashing high above them, or the rain drumming through the streets with the liveliness of a pair of kids running for some unknown destination, not caring where they end up — it dawns on Denji that the volume of Aki's reality, what he's gone through out there in some semblance of a half-life, the orders and the isolation and the destruction, isn't something he can compete with right now. He could bark all he wants about how they can have both things without trade-offs or hidden terms written in the fine print, without sacrifice, but Aki's not selfish the way he is. He keeps promises that Denji renders null and void within 24 hours; he cares about doing right by others, not hurting anyone, and not hurting Denji. That's the most frustrating part about him.

So what can he do for him?

After a moment, Denji's wrist moves from beneath Aki's fingers, replaced by the shape of his own hand, squeezing down. He interlocks their fingers, like a key pushing through a catch, twisting home. ]

You…

[ It's probably pointless to tell him that, yes, he was going to school as normal, that he had Nayuta and a place to crash, food to eat, that he was doing fine without him. That he could live a full life without him in the picture, maybe, but only because, at one point, Aki had been there. That he'd entered his life a year ago and salvaged it, like he salvaged their breakfast this morning, into something that could be swallowed down, even the too hard, too salty bits. That he'd come and gone, but that he still clung to the weight of his absence and his memory like a buoy in raging waters, a compass to lead him back out of the thicket.

It's pointless, so he tells him something else. ]

You said that you didn't care where we went. That as long as we're together, you'll go with me.

[ A sudden rattling comes from the roof entry, the door opening as the shine of a flashlight finds their faces. "I knew I saw someone near the ledge. Hey! This place is private property — you're trespassing!"

Denji doesn't look at the voice. ]

So come with me, [ he rushes the words out, pulling Aki up to stand on the precipice with him. ] I want you to come with me. Let's both leave, let's both —

[ Jump! ]

[...What?]

[Aki blinks and they're falling. To the side, so it's more like a jump, but a jump preceds the fall in this case. One moment there was a light in his face and Denji was telling him to go with him and now they're falling. His hand still on his neck, like he's holding a dog by the scruff, and he realizes he recognizes this sensation. A fall right before a splat, but the splat didn't work that time, and he knows it won't work this time, either. But Denji - ]

Wait -

[He wraps his arms around him suddenly, yanking him against his chest as he turns his body and expects the impact. It happens not a moment later and a horrible crunch surrounds them, metal breaking metal. His back feels cold. He feels it retreat inward again, sinking back into his skin below his clothes, though the shield only protected him from the initial impact, not the shock to his limbs or the crunch to his back. He cracks open his eyes (when did he close them?) and sees that the bright lights that had been flashing in the fog above are now flashing all around them, the patrol car under them smashed inward and bleeding metal and glass.]

[An officer is rushing over and demanding to know what happened, if they're okay, but Aki only pushes Denji up, grabbing him and yanking him along as he runs. He doesn't want to die. He doesn't want to die yet. He tries to rush off as voices behind them call out to wait, they can help, the devil is dead, they don't need to panic. But Aki just runs. Eyes wide and full of fear. He doesn't want to die. He can't go with Denji - if he goes with him, he's just going to be hunted down, captured, Gun taken from him. No, it's better to be compliant. It's better to do what others tell him to. It's better to obey authority. The result is going to be the same in the end no matter what he does. He's going to die in the end. But he doesn't want to die yet.]

Can't - Have to -

[His body aches from the impact and his back feels like it was snapped in two. He can feel that little bullet burning a hole into his pocket. He knows what he was to do, but not here. He keeps running with faulty, stumbling steps through the evacuated streets in search of somewhere to hide.]

[ The fall had been the easy part to anticipate. To an extent, he'd imagined them shouldering the pain of the landing together and running hand in hand somewhere, too, but not quite like this. Idiotically, he'd a more juvenile motion picture running in his mental theater, something out of a teen coming-of-age movie where they'd dash in and out of the streets, splashing through puddles all the way, roughed up and in pain but still snickering. Maybe play more tonsil hockey in some out of sight corner once they made their great escape. The patrol car, the way Aki braced himself for the impact in Denji's stead — none of it had gone to plan, and now there's a panic seizing seizing Aki's voice, so real, it's like Denji can feel that very same hand tightening his own throat, shallowing his breaths. ]

Aki — Aki!

[ Denji calls his name again and again, the way someone might try to call out to someone tossing and turning from a bad dream. It's of little use.

Switching tactics, his eyes frantically scan the closest wing of the street, then moving on to the next, searching for a place they both can recuperate. Just for a single second. ]

T-There! C'mon, let's go in there!

[ When he spots a shaded staircase down to some establishment — a shuttered down bar, according to the grayed out signage — Denji takes the lead, fueled by a second wind of adrenaline, and steers them down a back road to duck inside the nook of the space. Though his shoulders crash into the wall and all he wants to do is hand over his knees and catch his breath, he doesn't let go Aki's hand. If anything, his grip strengthens, signaling to Aki to look at him.

Between breaths, he manages: ] Aki. [ He raises their connected hands, the veins of his wrist faced out toward him. ] Drink. [ It's not a suggestion. Aki's in worse shape than he is right now. ]

[Aki follows easily the moment Denji has found a spot to duck into. With the rain still pelting them both, the sudden cover has him realizing just how cold he's gotten - it's late and the weather definitely isn't making things any warmer. He catches his breath, same as Denji, not even realizing he's still holding onto him. When it's risen up by Denji's own movement, Aki looks up and stares at the offered wrist, brows furrowed in confusion. Drink...? From - him?]

[It's a stupid idea, he should say, but reasons it doesn't really matter, that Denji will heal from it in no time. It's stupid to fight this. It's stupid to reject it when he'll need to recover somehow before they go back and looking like a wet dog isn't going to beat the allegations from the devil, anyway. But something deeper is rejecting it. He's not a devil. He doesn't want that. To drink blood - Even to recover so easily, he can't do it. Even though the bite on his hand has already sealed itself up and is little more than a vague bruise now, he still can't stand the idea. But it will work, won't it? a little voice reminds him, and he stares at the veins in Denji's wrist, the blood concealed beneath, a short distance that even his teeth can reach and suck out. He holds onto his hand at an awkward angle, the open wrist still facing him, that close to him. He can just bite down and break straight through. Absorb that little bit of Denji. Come right back, be ready to move again. It's only blood. It's only Denji.]

[Briefly, his eyes widen, as if understanding a long, twisted, stupid joke with a brick of a punchline. Denji's blood.]

[He drops his arm as if throwing it, shaking his head as he steps away from him. What the hell is he doing? What the hell is he thinking?]

Just - Give me a minute.

[He crouches down and leans against the wall, still trying to catch his breath. He's exhausted. He's not thinking straight. That stupid devil - It's fucked up his brain. Like a child pouting, he turns away from Denji. It's embarrassing to think he's seeing him like this. So out of sorts.]

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